


Something New

by Dajra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dajra/pseuds/Dajra
Summary: “What’s with that look, my friend? Have I changed that much since the last time we met? Forgot just how handsome I was?”She scoffs, an exasperated smile pulling at her lips. “You say as if you haven’t changed your looks significantly since the last time we were together.”(Byleth visits Claude in his homeland after a few months of separation to discover him looking a bit different than the last time they spoke.)
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Bushra as a part of a Claudeleth Secret Santa exchange! I'm sorry I'm so late, but I hope you like it!

It had been five moons since the Almyran army had aided a newly united Fódlan against the remnants of the Empire loyalists and Those Who Slither in the Dark. Four moons since a banquet of goodwill had been held between the two countries to celebrate their budding alliance—and to officially announce the engagement between their sovereigns. Three moons since Claude had flown back across the Throat to tend to matters to keep his freshly secured rule secure, and had left her to tend to her own fledgling country.  
  
And now, it had been two weeks since she began her journey beyond Fódlan’s Locket to visit her betrothed, the cool of Fodlan’s winter giving way to the much milder weather of Almyra.  
  
Byleth had left her royal entourage a few hours back in a village that neighbored the capital, waving their worry aside before taking to the skies alone on her wyvern. It had been Claude’s idea of course, to complete the last bit of her journey alone through skies routinely patrolled by the Almyran Royal Guard—though Byleth had no qualms against the suggestion. This little scheme afforded her a few hours to doff the title of _Your Majesty,_ and hopefully a whole evening where instead of a meeting between the King of Almyra and Queen of Fódlan, they could spend time as just Claude and Byleth.  
  
 _Claude_.  
  
Five moons was nothing compared to the five years Claude waited for her, but Byleth still found herself missing him terribly in his absence—the second parting from him in what had been two years of constant companionship for her. The longing had gotten noticeable enough that even her former students began to pick up on which silence gazes were her lost in thought and which ones were her thinking about Claude.  
  
(She had to feel even more grateful that the last leg of her journey had been flown alone, as Hilda was on retainer and Byleth wasn’t sure if she could handle the girl’s teasing at a time like this.)  
  
Fortunately she would not be stuck to simply longing much longer. The sun-bleached buildings of her destination began to peek from the plateau that hosted them, a wave of giddiness alighting her lips with a smile with every beat of wyvern wings that brought her closer to Claude’s home.  
  
His careful instructions had her flying around the capital proper and directly to the royal aviaries, the special heraldry he’d sent to dress her wyvern allowed her passage without issue. Byleth made her way through smoothly, spying the familiar bulking figure of Claude’s retainer standing on the dock of the roost.  
  
Nader approached her as she made her landing. “Glad I opted for a quick lunch when I heard reports of a Fódlani envoy approaching,” he began in the common of Fódlan, offering her a hand to climb down as attendants already swept in to care for her wyvern, “and suffice to say you made good timing, Professor! Or I suppose I should say, Your Majesty?”  
  
“Just Byleth is fine, if you can stomach the lack of titles,” she answered with a smile. It was a small blessing that Nader was the one to receive her from the stables—she didn’t know if she could handle the pomp and circumstances of a royal reception at her arrival. His familiarity and banter was a welcome balm for the overeager twist of her stomach at finally arriving in Claude’s homeland.  
  
“I would hardly remember my own title if people weren’t reminding me of my responsibilities all the time! Much simpler times just being a soldier out on the field, eh Professor?” Nader turned to a few of the attendants and spoke something quickly in Almyran before motioning toward Byleth, prompting her to follow him inside the palace proper.  
  
“They’re gonna take your things to the rooms in which you’ll be staying,” said with an overly dramatic wink, “so you won't have to worry about cutting your quality time short. The boy has been cooped up in his study for the last week or so, so he’ll be quick to track down.”  
  
It figured Claude would be working overtime, Byleth thought. She had done her own fair share of long nights and back-to-back meetings before this trip. But unlike her, who had a large and reliable assortment of allies, Claude had a negligible inner circle that he could trust with his most delicate of dealings. “Everything is going alright?”  
  
Nader laughed. “Oh, things have been downright peaceful since His Majesty rushed his army across the Throat.” He paused to wave to the guard posted outside another set of doors, waiting for the click of the lock behind them before continuing. “It was a good opportunity to show those who weren’t so sure of his rule the strength and tactical prowess he possessed first hand, as well as the tenacity of the neighbors he shares blood with—not that I could’ve stopped him even if it wasn’t beneficial. You can still see the tracks he wore into the floor with all his pacing when he first heard of trouble in Fódlan.”  
  
A tension she didn’t realize she was holding eased from her shoulders. “Better than the fight for the crown, then.” She had heard snippets of the challenges in the stilted letters Claude had managed to smuggle across the border, messages mostly sent to ensure that he was still alive more than inform her of anything specific.  
  
The larger man shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “There’s always going to be troublemakers and naysayers when things change, but the lad has been good at focusing on the citizenry opposed to the old families stuck in their ways. When enough of the common folk are supportive of this new outlook the dissenters will have to bend, lest a good soldier decides to challenge the general for control. Enough of that boring talk, though!”  
  
Nader gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he changes the subject. “I’m sure the lad will be over the moon to see your early arrival. The sighs he’s been heaving toward the east since your last correspondence could’ve kept a whole platoon of wyverns aloft.”  
  
She tried to hide her amusement behind a hand but was nowhere near quick enough, an oh-too-familiar twinkle in Nader’s eye making her wonder who had taught _who_ that particular look of mischief.  
  
There’s no time to consider it further as they come upon the ornate doors that must lead to the king’s private study, and Byleth’s pulse picks up at the voice which answers Nader’s knocks. Claude’s back is still to them as the door opens and Nader announces, “Your Majesty, your _most esteemed_ guest has arrived!”  
  
Claude visibly perks, standing with a speed that has Byleth worried the gust of movement would blow the papers precariously balanced on his desk right out of the window. Her name is on his lips, emerald eyes alight with the sight of her, and Byleth hardly has time to let that feeling of relief wash over her because —  
  
— Claude has a beard.  
  
Not just the trimmed line he kept during the war, but a full and proper beard that fights against the expectation of the face she thought would greet her when he turned around. It’s not as long as Nader’s, but it’s a close thing, obscuring the line of his jaw and climbing up his cheeks all the way to his upper lip. It houses more curls than his hair but is just as dark, and the feeling warming her chest is akin to the first time she saw him again on the Goddess Tower after waking up. Unmistakably Claude, but also something new.  
  
She hears nothing of Nader’s exit and barely notes the way Claude approaches, too busy scanning his face for any more changes.  
  
The touch on her skin jolts Byleth back to the present, amusement rolling off Claude in waves as he raises their joined hands to place a kiss against the back of hers. “What’s with that look, my friend? Have I changed that much since the last time we met? Forgot just how handsome I was?”  
  
She scoffs, an exasperated smile pulling at her lips. “You say as if you haven’t changed your looks significantly since the last time we were together.”  
  
There’s a moment of quiet contemplation before Claude’s lips part, connecting the dots. Laughter rumbles deep in his chest when he grabs her other hand and pulls both up to rest against his jaw. “I suppose I was sporting less hair the last time we spoke. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.”  
  
Byleth takes his movement as permission, running her fingers through his beard as Claude leans into her touch like an eager monastery cat. “I’ve never seen your beard this long before,” she murmurs, tracing the edges of hair and skin as she maps the changes with her fingertips.  
  
Claude’s eyes close at the attention, a delightful shiver jumping under her hands before he looks at her through his lashes. “It’s not exactly the fashion in Fódlan, especially among the younger lords.” One side of his lips pulls higher in a smirk, tilting his head to kiss one of her palms before he adds, “Can you imagine Lorenz with a beard like this?”  
  
Her own laughter is light. “Imagine the scandal.” Her hands cup his face to pull him in for a kiss, noting the way the hair tickles at her lips before pulling away, deterring Claude from getting carried away before she can finish her own exploration. She taps a finger against the pout formed on his lips before she continues, asking “What spurred the change?”  
  
He heaves a dramatic sigh as she tilts his head in her hands, even as a smile turns his lips. “Well, the opposite is true for Almyra. It’s considered a sign of masculine strength among many, as a lot of the first kings have been depicted with quite impressive ones.” A chuckle, before he adds, “And I could use all the help I could get for my image in these early days of my reign. My half-brothers were quick to cite my Fódlan heritage as an inability to grow a proper one when I returned here, so in a way growing it out was the easiest way to prove them wrong.”  
  
A furrow creases her brows at the casual mention of the judgment he faced from his siblings, Byleth positive that Claude is downplaying the confrontation. She shakes her head, not wanting to tarnish their first meeting in so many moons by pushing the issue, so for now she asks “Where do you stand?”  
  
Claude blinks, pulling back but not out of reach. “About the beard?” When she nods, he hums, taking a moment to consider.  
  
“Well,” he begins, gripping Byleth’s hands as he takes a step back toward one of the seats pushed against the wall “it certainly saves me a lot of time in the morning on shaving—which is a godsend on those days where I’ve come a little close to greeting the dawn’s first rays before I’ve managed to lay down.” He sits as the back of his knees come into contact with the plush material of the chaise, pulling Byleth down to sit on one of his legs. “But I’m more interested in hearing _your_ opinion on it, oh Enlightened One.”  
  
She levels him with a hard stare, prompting more laughter from him.  
  
He at least has the decency to stem his laughter before prodding again. “Humor me, Byleth.”  
  
“It’s soft,” is the first thing that comes to mind, words passing her lips before she can consider something more eloquent. But the hair is _surprisingly_ soft—a vast contrast to what she remembers of her father’s, the coarse hair always itching at her skin when he would carry her or correct her sword form when she was younger. “I like how it feels.”  
  
Claude’s expression softens, pulling her in closer. “The result of careful grooming and oil, I would say.” He had always been meticulous when it came to his appearance, nearly as much as Lorenz could be, so the statement makes sense to her. But Claude presses on, tilting his head to better meet her eyes. “But what about appearance, Byleth? Does it make me more roguish? Distinguished? Chiseled, perhaps?”  
  
She raises a brow, the tilt of her own head answering his. “Does that all truly matter? I think you look handsome, beard or not.”  
  
It’s the second in such a short amount of time that Claude looks at her in slack-jawed awe, and Byleth hardly has time to commit the cute expression to memory before his face is buried in her neck, causing her to giggle at the overwhelming sensation of hair tickling against her skin.  
  
His voice is muffled, but the sulking tone still rings true from her shoulder. “The way you can just say those things so naturally…” He nuzzles himself deeper into her neck, pulling more laughter from her throat, “...you really make it look effortless, you know?”  
  
Byleth huffs another laugh, running her fingers down his back. “I could say the same about you, you know.” She tries to lean back to catch his gaze, but Claude only holds her tighter. “As if _Duke Riegan_ didn’t charm and plan his way out of a war for five years. Even as house leader you made me feel as if my speeches to the class were lacking in conviction.”  
  
“But unlike you I have to put a lot of time and effort into my attempts to wax poetic, you know. Years of training to say something half as poignant as a former mercenary just speaking from the heart.” He finally pulls back, eyes alight with emotion and voice soft. “Seems you still have plenty of things to teach me, Teach.”  
  
The gaze he casts toward her melts her heart even further, and she can’t help herself. “I missed you.”  
  
His smile only grows, resting his forehead against hers. “Every night I would throw my wishes out to the stars, hoping that they could help me with my dream so I could return to you. It was a comfort to know that even the mountains between us couldn’t stop us from looking at the same sky.”  
  
Her face grows hot, and she tries to hide her embarrassment with a scoff. “Was that one rehearsed as well?”  
  
Claude chuckles, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. “Nope, that one was straight from the heart. You always knew me to be a quick study, Byleth. Now—” he moves to stand, pulling her up with him, “—how about we get reacquainted while I acquaint you to the palace?”  
  
Byleth casts a quick glance over to the desk, still burdened with paperwork. “You have the time?”  
  
He pointedly does not look at the desk, instead cupping her cheek and distracting her thoughts with another lingering kiss. “I have time,” he answers when they finally part. “I’ve been working ahead for this very reason.”  
  
It only takes her a moment to nod her head in acquiescence, giving his hand a squeeze before pulling away. Nader had mentioned that Claude had been working around the clock—it wasn’t as if she could say no to anything that would finally pull him away from his study. “Then I suppose I would be grateful for your royal grand tour, King Khalid.”  
  
Claude chokes on a breath, and Byleth relishes in the heat of bashfulness lighting his cheeks. It takes him a moment to clear his throat and school his face back into a semblance of easy calm, even if the expression was marred by the flush that still colored his ears. “Be careful, Queen Byleth! We won't get very far if you keep talking like that.”  
  
“Then we better hurry.” She holds up her hand expectantly.  
  
Claude laughs, pulling her hand up and pressing a kiss to the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Whatever you wish, Your Majesty.” He guides them to the door, swinging them open as he says, “Why don’t we start at the kitchens so you can refuel after your long journey? I can’t say that I haven’t also missed a meal or two on this day.”  
  
If her stomach hadn’t made itself known at the mention of food, she might have had more energy to chide him. Instead she just huffs her annoyance. “Then lead the way.”  
  
He smiles in a way that shows he knows he’s avoided her ire, but keeps his mouth wisely shut.  
  
The echo of their footsteps is the only sound that accompanies their amicable silence, until Byleth glances over to him, supplying, “The beard does make you look more mature, I believe.”  
  
His smile is wry, and he rubs a hand against his chin. “So you’re saying I should shave it if I ever long for the simplicity of youth again.”  
  
Byleth shakes her head, a small smile answering his. “If you think it would be that simple, then I suppose.”  
  
There’s no time to steel herself before Claude has suddenly leaned in, her laughter bouncing off the walls as he rubs his face against her ticklish neck once again. It takes several attempts for her to wiggle away from his assault, the hands she had pressed against his cheeks to push him away only pulling his smile wider.  
  
“I think I’m good with seeing what this _mature me_ is capable of for now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always crying about Claude and Byleth @ spotfast on Twitter.


End file.
